


The Biggest Scandals of Blair Waldorf’s Week

by cyclogenesis (addictedkitten)



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/cyclogenesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s telling that the biggest scandal of Blair’s week isn’t getting photographed kissing Dan Humphrey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Biggest Scandals of Blair Waldorf’s Week

It’s telling that the biggest scandal of Blair’s week isn’t getting photographed kissing Dan Humphrey. In fact, it’s third on the list, which is as follows: 

The Biggest Scandals of Blair Waldorf’s Week  
1\. The headline “Monagesque Heir Felled By Suspected Poisoning” on the cover of Hello! Magazine - that wasn’t the scandal exactly, but how dare they use such a terrible photo of Blair, all veiled and gloved and sad-eyed like a person with public emotions? Humphrey insisted she looked dashing, like a film noir heroine, which had been exactly what she was going for, but he didn’t need to know that.   
2\. Serena van der Woodsen and Chuck Bass, caught in a tryst! That one was a Gossip Girl blast, but again, what was with the paparazzi - the paid ones and the GG hobbyists - choosing the absolute worst shots of Blair? She hadn’t at all been startled and upset by that situation, some Lower East Sider ( _why_ do they allow those past 54th Street?) just happened to catch her on the way out of Laduree, miffed that the confectionary had the gall to sell the last box of pistachio and rosewater macarons, and sent the photo in as if it honestly represented her crushed soul. Serena and Chuck hadn’t even been kissing for real - it had been a scheme to ferret out the real Gossip Girl. But even if it had been, Blair didn’t have much room to get mad at Serena given the Dan Situation.   
3\. The Dan Situation being the third biggest scandal, of course - what’s a little kissing between friends? She needed comfort, after all, because it’s very trying dealing with an ill husband who keeps insisting that his champagne tastes funny, and an ex-boyfriend looming spectre-ishly about, hand in his pocket like this problem could only be solved by something as pedestrian as a _wallet_. Where was the Chuck Bass she once knew? At least that Chuck had been creative. He had schemed once like he _loved_ it. 

“Well, I guess everyone’s going to know now,” Dan says. In the flashing lights from the cameras, his hair looks differently silly, and Blair wants, against her better judgment, to kiss him again. She does. His stubble is rough on the pads of her fingers, and his hand folds into a fist at the base of her back, crumpling a bit of her silk Dolce & Gabbana dress. Blair presses against him, ignoring the urge to remain fastidious in all things. The flashbulbs burst and echo in crashes of sound, lighting them up. Of all of Blair Waldorf’s problems, currently the ache between her thighs is the worst. She wants to fuck Dan, and badly. Once upon a time, that would have been one of her problems, but once upon a times aren’t what they used to be in Blair’s world. 

“You are magnificent at stating the obvious, Humphrey,” Blair hisses. It comes out meaner than she wants it to, mostly because the sexual frustration sets in quick with her and makes her even less patient than usual. “Get me back to my apartment before the tabloids end up with a sex tape.” 

“Why would they - Jesus Christ,” Dan says, alarmed. “Okay, let’s - yes, back to your apartment, I like that idea, I can do that.” Blair cuts off his rambling by taking his hand and leading him through the crush of photographers, heedless of the paparazzi toes crunching beneath her YSL stilettos. Her car is waiting at the curb, as it should be, the chauffeur holding the door open already, as he should be, and Dan darts down to tend to the hem of her dress before it brushes the sidewalk as she gets in, because he is perfect, why didn’t she realize that sooner - but no time for dwelling on thoughts like that, not when the car is pulling away from the curb as the door slams shut behind Dan. 

She kisses Dan in the backseat of the car because that’s a perfectly rational thing to do when one is in the backseat of a car with someone whom one wishes to kiss; it’s not a sacred act or space or any of that, it’s just the two of them, Blair and Dan, kissing where they are because they want to. She definitely wants to, anyway, can’t seem to get enough of it. She knew Dan was a good kisser, remembered that from their kisses last year even though she’d spent so many months trying to forget it, but every time it’s a surprise, a delicious one if she’s honest with herself, the way he pushes when he needs to but lets her control it if that’s what she wants (it usually is), the scrape of his teeth on her lower lip, his tongue licking in like a visit instead of an invasion. He doesn’t want to own her; it’s sad that she finds that refreshing. 

His fingers tangle with hers in the elevator up, fingers pushing between hers and pressing close like a preview; she resists climbing him, but only barely. Decorum is the watchword, always, at least until they’ve ascended the stairs and her door is shut and locked behind them. She pushes Dan onto the bed with more force than is necessary, but he gives as good as he takes it, hands fast around her waist and pulling her on top of him. It seems like he likes the feel of his fingers grasping silk. She reaches back to get at the zipper of her dress but his hands are there already, pulling the zipper down with more care than she’d expected from his Brooklyn-bred fingers that have only rarely caressed couture. 

Dan tumbles her over onto her back then, her fingers curling into claws at the sudden reversal of control, but it seems he only did it so he can best tug her dress off, down her body and over her hips without pulling too hard on the fabric, leaving her in her matching La Perlas as he thoughtfully lays her dress across the back of the chair. _I actually love him_ , she thinks, and viciously tamps it down. Now’s not the time. Now’s the time to lift up and get at the buttons of his shirt, and not look at his face, because if she does, God help her, she will say it. She will tell Dan Humphrey that she loves him before they even have sex, and she is not going to be that girl. 

“Blair, wait,” Dan says. Were this a romance novel, it might be said that she rips his shirt off, but that doesn’t happen in real life - so she simply divests him of it, roughly enough that his arms get a bit red from the fabric burn. 

“Wait for what?” Blair asks. She opens his pants and pushes them down. The second he steps out of them, she tugs him over onto the bed, onto his back again, where she likes him. God, she _really_ likes him there. Blair decides it’s time to take her bra off. 

“Nothing, keep going,” Dan says, staring at her breasts. She pulls him in for another kiss, wanting to feel her nipples pressed against his chest. It feels as wonderful as she thought it would, warm and right. They kiss for longer than she meant to. They distract her, Dan’s kisses. She wants to keep kissing him. She also wants to fuck him, though. She swings a leg over his hip and straddles his waist, grinding down. It’s nice, the slide of fabric between them, extra friction as she grinds her clit against the length of his cock. It’s nice for a second anyway, until she’s so wet that the slide gets too easy, and a damp patch appears on his boxers, just from her, from her being so incredibly wet for him. He thrusts up against her, and she moans, unable to stop it. “Look, Blair,” he gasps. “I love you, and I wanted to say that before we had sex, so you wouldn’t think it was some afterglow thing.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Humphrey, of course you’re that girl,” Blair says, because _of course he is_ , Dan goddamned _Humphrey_ , who she _loves back_ , as if anybody could have ever believed it. She cuts off his affronted “what girl?” with an, “I love you too, and I’m not just saying that because I want you to fuck me right now, even though I do, but I know that you’ll get all huffy if I don’t immediately confess my love for you, so here you go, I, Blair Waldorf, love you, Dan Humphrey. Condoms are in the left side table. Get one.” 

She expects him to come back with something related to the essential element of romance missing from her speech, but for once he’s thankfully quiet and obedient, and manages to grab a condom without ever really looking away from her. It’s the sort of blind adoration she hasn’t had directed at her in far, far too long, and it turns out she loves it best on his face. His stupid Brooklyn face, which she also loves. “Oh god, come here, Humphrey,” she demands, pulling him close, barely giving him any space to get the condom on before she’s arching up, kissing his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, wriggling out of her panties. Dan’s naked, finally, and he sits back, presumably to get his bearings for a moment, but she doesn’t have time for that, frankly, she needs this immediately and will not have it denied her for another single second. She pulls herself up and kisses him hard and quick to forestall any protests. With his mouth occupied, Dan can’t do much but take it as she straddles his lap and lowers herself down onto him, an easy slide in, all the way in until he’s completely inside her, as close as he can get. 

He’s quick on the uptake, she’ll give him that. Dan wraps his arms around her, holding her there, holding her close as she grinds down against him. It’s not the easiest position for thrusting, but he manages, careful movements of his hips so he doesn’t jostle her too much, so she can get some friction against her clit, and it’s perfect, she’s finally as close to him as she’s needed to be. “Oh my god,” he says, muffled against her neck. “You are amazing. Okay? Blair, you’re amazing.” She takes him all the way in and tightens around him, clenching her muscles and pulling another groan from his throat. “And I’m going to go down on you for like three hours later -” 

“I’ll allow it,” she manages. 

“But right now,” he continues, “can I just, please,” he begs, and gets a good grip on her thighs and guides her down onto her back as carefully as he can, staying inside her. She smiles up at him, meaning it, and wraps her legs around his waist. “Thank you,” he says, so polite, Brooklyn hair and Manhattan manners (there’s hope for him yet - hope for them, she thinks), and then starts to really fuck her, thrusting hard enough that their skin slaps together, inelegant and perfect, just how she wants. 

She’s barely reached down to touch her clit before he’s brushing her fingers away and setting a firm thumb there for her to grind against, which she does, beyond focusing now, just pulling his body down to hers, gasping with every deep thrust, and somewhere in there, in the heat of the moment, certainly, she says it again, “I love you,” and of course that’s what does it for him, makes his lips part on a moan as he stills inside her. She grinds up as hard she can, one last roll of her clit between his fingers and then she’s there too, nothing to do with the look on his face as he comes, no, nothing at all. Completely unrelated events, their orgasms, just a happy coincidence in timing. It’s with reluctance that she lets him go for a moment, but he comes back soon enough, pulling her close because of course they’re going to cuddle now. She’ll allow that too. She’ll do it back, even. He kisses her forehead, and hugs her, a little. She hugs back. They don’t say anything. Blair hides a smile against his chest, then looks up so they can share it.

So the biggest scandal of the day, probably, is that she loves Dan, is actually truly in love with Dan Humphrey. But that’s still a secret. That scandal is theirs alone, for now.


End file.
